


The Poisoned Youth

by ButterflyPrincess



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, discussion of the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 17:33:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11696517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyPrincess/pseuds/ButterflyPrincess
Summary: It's a sweet image, a happy fantasy. How they would have walked past each other for the first time, Fabian in awe, Max endeared beyond saving. None of them would have done anything about it, it would have just been a weird crush from afar, after all.





	The Poisoned Youth

**Author's Note:**

> So, I found this unfinished thing on my USB drive this morning and I got back into liking where I was going with this, so well, I finished it. It's an odd ship, I know, but it's aesthetic as hell don't @ me.
> 
> ...I digress. Just enjoy, you lovely people <3

**We are the Poisoned Youth**

 

Fabian can't comprehend it. He can't _believe_ it.

His teenage crush from times when they were barely more than amateurs, on teams that never got further than winning some games in German tournaments and from times when he had been so far from being who he is today... This crush, from this time is standing right there, right in front of him.

Fabian had done his best to forget about the guy that used to just play with his fifteen-year-old heart, fragile and inexperienced as it was. The guy who had always been unreachable, at least for the person that he used to be. Way shier than now, way more self-concious, especially since well... He hasn't always been the relatively slim young man he is now. His teenage years were... Difficult to say the least. He doesn't like thinking about them.

It had been easy enough to do so with Fabian for the most part prioritizing his graduation, all the while relatively keeping up his general skill in League enough to jump in again after. He had worked his way up the ladder with a determination he hadn't ever quite expected of himself. In the end, he had made in into LCS, gradually improving enough to compete against the best Europe had to offer.

But now, about three years later, he's returned. Max “Satorius” Günther made it into the LCS, he's back in the same league as Fabian and it's so crazy to think about. And he's standing there, facing Fabian behind the studio, leaning against the cool wall with no care in the world. He had been stuck in Challenger Series for years on end, out of Fabian's reach. Out of sight, out of mind, that's what they say after all.

However, it's not Max's presence itself that's weird. It's not the fact that he made it here, that he's a 'real' professional now, even though that's it own kind of impressive. It's not even the fact that he has grown up to look like he's an upgrade to Rekkles, everybody's darling and arguably the most popular player among fangirls. Seriously, how does Max manage to make Martin look like a pre-teen next to him?

The weird thing about it is that he looks so, so _angry_ _. S_ eriously, why would he? It's so odd. How he's standing there, eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Fabian from head to toe, shooting a glance at Romain who immediately raises his hands in surrender and just quickly informs Fabian where the team's going to meet up for dinner.

“So, what do you want?”, Fabian asks finally, arms crossed in front of his chest, leaning back a little. He's tense all over, unsettled. He eyes Max skeptically, yet indirectly, not quite looking him in the eyes.

“Congratulate you.”

“What?” Fabian's arms fall to his sides in surprise.

“I want to congratulate you. You are doing exceptionally well, honestly. Almost went to Worlds last year, won IEM Oakland, being an EU favourite now. You've come a long way, Fabs. I'm proud of you.” Max says it without falling out of his reserved posture. It's awkward. Not quite sincere, not quite genuine. More like a forced way to find a start to a conversation whose existence itself doesn't make sense to Fabian in the first place.

“You're jealous, aren't you?” There's smirk playing around his lips. His arms are back in front of chest but this time he's leaning forward a bit, his eyes sparkling in a challenging way. As if he dared Max to start a battle.

“I'm going to make _you_ jealous, if anything”, Max retorts after a second of apparent surprise and steps a bit closer to Fabian. There's barely room left between them but Fabian doesn't back away. He's beyond such shenanigans.

“Yeah, right. You've always been good at that as far as I remember. Who are you gonna bang this time to show how much better you are than me? Saw a girl in the audience basically carrying her boobs around in the open. Bet she'd like you.” Fabian presses his lips together in a thin line, startled for a moment at what he's just said

“Interesting of you to mention that. Never thought you'd identify that much with a slutty groupie. I can remember quite clearly that you would've done anything to get me to like you back on Eyes On You. Am I wrong?” Max knows he isn't. Fabian knows it, too. But this is not about the truth or their past or the truth about their past. This is about here and now and it's a challenge that's been issued. This is about who gives up first.

“Hmm, I don't know, Max. I can only remember someone being pretty obsessed with being better than me at everything. Guess that didn't work out in the long run, though.” Fabian is the one to step forward this time. His still crossed arms almost touch Max's front. “Or actually...”, he starts, allowing his eyes to flicker over Max face and body for a second, “Maybe you still do look a bit better.”

It's a bone he throws him, curious if Max is ready to pick it up and chew on it. Or if he throws it back at him, maybe even just leaves it as it is.

Max simply snorts. It's an arrogant little sound, hiding nothing of his confidence. “And you? Got into shape, huh? Bet the fangirls like you, too. Cute as you are.” He raises one hand next to Fabian's head. “I bet many would like to play with that funny, messy hair of yours. It's what you kept from earlier years. Always liked that to be honest.”

Max's fingers find a strand of Fabian's hair, fumble with it a bit. And there it is. His heart doing flips and his fingers boring into his arms in order to keep his mind focused.

He doesn't want to be fifteen again. He doesn't want to still be jumping at Max's touch. He's long past that. He's grown up. Or has he?

“It's funny, isn't it? How you have improved your looks and your play but deep down you're still the same, aren't you?” Max chuckles and let's his fingers run out of Fabian hair, touches his cheek briefly before slowly moving it to his side as he spells out what Fabian has been thinking. “You still like this, don't you? Me being close to you? It's nice that some things just don't change.”

“Things always change, Max”, Fabian says shakily. He has the trapping feeling of losing control. He has lost all control that he had had at the beginning of their conversation. But is he willing to give it up? Hell no. He loosens his arms, grabs Max' wrist and keeps it in a firm grip there next to his face. Max just smiles down on him.

“No, they don't. Don't you remember? The evening after our win at ESL Winter 2013? When I had you in our room?” Max leans forward, lips _almost_ touching Fabian's ear but not quite. He can only feel the breath against his cheek and he tries his best not to be driven insane by this.

Max lowers his voice. “When I had you in my room. You were so high on victory, it was _insane._ I had you there, completely at my mercy and you were _ready_. You wanted me to fuck you so, _so_ bad. But do you remember what happened then? When you were already hard and ready and begging for me?”

Fabian gulps. He knows. Of course he does. He has this moment ingrained in his brain. The memory of it has been present for years. Sometimes more, sometimes less but always there. He can feel the anger boiling up inside of him, burning and eating away at his guts. It still hurts. It still makes it heart clench, just being reminded of that evening. He takes a second to regain his composure.

“You left me”, he breathes, “Right there, desperate and needy. And I was so disappointed but never dared to call you out on it. I was embarrassed, shy and I had no one to go to.”

It stings, it really does and Fabian wishes it didn't. He remembers it all too well. Lying there on Max' bed, face flushed, lips swollen and red from the kisses he had been dragged into. He couldn't believe this was happening. That his crush of months, three years his senior and significantly more handsome was there on top of him, pressing their lips together as if it was the only thing on the planet that mattered.

His hormones had gotten the better of him quickly, as they do with fifteen-year-old virgins. And when he was just about to gain some confidence, when he was just about to actually reciprocate Max's actions... Max just stood up. Fabian had been startled beyond belief. And Max? He just smiled at him, looked down at him and said, “Well, thanks for that, I guess. Got a date now, though. Bye, _Sexyleh._ ”

“And now? What do you want _now?_ ”, he asks trying not to flinch at the memory of his nickname in _this_ context.

“I want you to finally look me in the eyes.” It's not a request, it's a demand. And Fabian follows it.

He looks up. Right into Max's eyes. His grip around his wrist loosens slightly. He hates those eyes. He hates them so much. They are awfully familiar even after years not seeing each other. It's insane how deep they are and how little he can define their colour. It's what has always fascinated him about them, has never let it become boring to look at them. He feels himself getting lost in them, being sucked into this gaze.

“Maybe, though”, Fabian breathes, “maybe this time I'll be the one walking out on you.” He lets go of Max' wrist and takes a step back. It shouldn't be that hard but it is. He's not letting it show, no way.

Fabian lets a smirk ghost across his face as he sees how Max' expression sets off for a second. It's probably not even a whole second, it's less than the fraction of a second. But he sees it. It jumps right into his face, delightfully obvious. He wants to laugh at the irony of what he believes to be witnessing.

"You'd hate that, wouldn't you?", Fabian states, unable to hide the amusement that's cracking up inside him, "Me not doing what you expect?"

Silence.

"Oh, oh no", he continues, "That's not it. You are not _that_ much of a control freak. You... You'd hate me walking out on you. Being good without you. Not jumping at your approaches? Must suck to see someone grow up, am I right? You thought I'd just stand there, hypnotized until you what? Kissed me? Almost kissed me only to walk out on me again? Too bad that isn't happening this time."

"You really did gain some confidence, did you? I like that. But if it makes you happy you could say that I... missed you." Max is the one who's closing up now, arms crossed, body slightly leaning back, averting Fabian's eyes.

"Oh? You? _You_ missed _me_? Well now, that's interesting. Because I thought we agreed on what happened three years ago. It could appear a bit weird, don't you think? You being the one who's missing me? Since, you know, I didn't leave you?"

"What do you want me to say?" Max says, obviously unsettled. But not only that. He seems... insecure even.

"I don't know, Max. What do _you_ want to say?”, Fabian snaps, “What do you think would help this situation? Maybe you could just admit that you rejected me back then because I was "the small fat boy who can deal with it". You know, the one that would just react to your every move because "Look how cute, he's got a crush on the hot one". You know what? If this was just about my dick I would have you fuck me against this wall until you couldn't hold me or yourself anymore. But I guess that's just not how it works."

Max laughs. It's dry and lacking any humour. "You don't get it, do you? You just stand there with your view on that time and think it's the only right view on it. Are you even aware how _arrogant_ you are being right now?"

"Do enlighten me, Max. Which ridiculously important point am I missing? That you crawled your way into a team that will barely survive this season? Most likely just to get on my nerves because let's be honest you'd probably earn more money boosting Challenger teams. Do you think it was a mistake? Are you hurt, too, now? Well, let me tell you something. Boo fucking hoo, because _I_ am the one who spent _days_ crying and having my self-esteem thrown into the dumpster.”

Max winces at that. It's a triumph.

“I was _eighteen,_ Fabs... I couldn't have- I didn't even-”

“No, you don't get to do that. You can't play the age card in this. Not when I was _three years younger._ Name me one reason why it was okay to play me like this. Name me. One. Fucking. Reason.”

Max looks at the floor. Opens his mouth, closes it instantly. He seems to struggle. Fabian isn't having it.

“Look me in the fucking eyes and give me one reason why any of this was okay”, he spits.

“It wasn't, I just... I was eighteen, I had friends, I had a reputation, I couldn't just... If had just hooked up with who they called a loser I would've lost it all... I wanted to, I liked you but I just...”

Fabian can't help but breathe out in something that sounds like a toneless laugh. This is ridiculous. This entire scene is ridiculous.

“In which universe does this justify anything? We were both boys earning money playing a video game. Being gay or hooking up with someone that doesn't fit your “reputation” wouldn't have made you significantly less cool. Spending twelve hours a day on a stupid game is basically as uncool as it gets already.” He pauses for a moment. “ _You_ were the adult in my eyes. I was looking _up_ to you. I _idolized_ you. I was never hoping for _anything._ I _knew_ you were above my league. You could've just... not done anything. You could've just left me alone.”

“Fabs, I-”

“You could have just not fucking _made out_ with me after Finals and left me. You could have just left for your stupid “date” without that bullshit. You could have just not treated me like a fucking asshole.”

Max lets his arms fall down to his sides. He slowly raises his right hand up to Fabian's cheek again, cupping his face ever so gently.

It makes Fabian's heart hurt a bit, makes him way too aware of how much he had always wanted them to just be adults and work this shit out. And then there's this little part of him, somewhere in the very back of his brain that wonders if everything had gone better if they had met just now. Backstage in the LCS Studio, without this past to poison them.

It's a sweet image, a happy fantasy. How they would have walked past each other for the first time, Fabian in awe, Max endeared beyond saving. None of them would have done anything about it, it would have just been a weird crush from afar, after all. Until they had played their first game against each other, shaking hands for slightly too long, looking at each other only to avert each other's gaze immediately, pretending not to feel the flash of electricity between their fingers.

They would have ended up interacting at some point, one way or the other. Probably, most likely, getting along well immediately, discussing strategies and metas like the weirdos they ultimately are. They'd probably get on their teams' nerves whenever they were around them by switching between English and German as convenient to whatever they wanted to say.

It's almost painful imagining them getting together slowly, tension building up slowly, more interactions, more private meet-ups, more touches over time. Daunting times of silly insecurities until one of them would finally man up and confess. Like a dumb romantic comedy, straight forward and easy. Some pining but no pain. Some misunderstandings but no fights. Easy.

“Fabs, I'm sorry... I can't change anything about the past but I was hoping I could...”

Fabian shakes his head. He gently grabs Max' wrist and slowly pushes it off his face. There's no force behind it this time. He lets loose for a second. In a moment of weakness he lets his hand slide into Max', intertwining their fingers. He closes his eyes, drinking in how his heartbeat still quickens at the touch, how much he wishes things had gone differently.

He sighs and lets go of Max' hand. He looks up and catches those eyes again. Those beautiful, beautiful eyes. They just look at each other for what seems like an eternity. A hauntingly peaceful eternity like a part of a different reality in which this is the magical moment before a kiss.

But it isn't.

“I wish you the best of luck”, Fabian whispers, his voice raspy and weak and it's all he can bring himself to say.

He can't bring himself to say anything mean to him, no matter how justified. Maybe it's just him being weak, him still not being over it. Maybe it's just him being tired of everything right now.

“Thanks”, Max replies quietly, watching Fabian leave him behind.


End file.
